


Must I Be the Fool

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Eye Injury, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vacation, hockey injury, marriage proposals, winter holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8621032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kent decides a winter vacation is in order for himself and his boyfriend, especially when he has plans to make it memorable.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my 1,000 followers Fic Fest.
> 
> Prompt: for the fic prompt thing- patater on their winter break from hockey, like going on some type of vacation and just enjoying each other's company and kent and tater just being soft. and idk something liek that. congrats on your followers btw!
> 
> I kind of lost control of the plot and what came out was a blubbering mess of Patater fluff, but I hope I at least got the gist of it. With the commentary on the Hockey game, take that with a huge grain of salt. I'm still new to Hockey so I don't have it 100% but I'm working on it.

Kent couldn’t be certain if it was serendipitous or not that the Aces were playing the Falconers on the third night of Chanukah that year—but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or whatever. He was shit at metaphors—sue him.

He managed to sneak into the Falconers’ locker room—and by sneak, he strolled right in and shot a few winks to a few of the protesting players. The rookies were more scandalised than the veterans, really, and were the only ones who demanded the Aces captain leave. Marty and Thirdy just rolled their eyes as Jack shook his head.

Tater, who had his earbuds on, and his back to the door, jumped when Kent slid a hand along his half-dressed waist, turning him. With careful fingers, he plucked the earbuds out and leant up to whisper, “What do you want for Chanukah this year?”

Tater rolled his eyes, even as he brought a hand up to cup Kent’s jaw. “Don’t play dirty game.”

Kent pouted. “I’m insulted you think I would.”

“I’m insulted you think I’m fall for that every time,” Tater chirped, but smiled and dragged his lips across Kent’s.

“Any more and it’s a fine,” Snowy shouted.

Tater laughed against Kent’s mouth. “What you want?”

“Dinner. Like…shitty take away and your bed. And we can fuck in the morning because I have jet-lag right now and this game is gonna kick my ass,” Kent confessed. “Also I have an actual gift for you in my case.”

Tater’s eyes lit up a little bit. Over the years the one thing Kent knew was how much his boyfriend loved getting gifts, and this one was a big one. He’d been planning this awhile, even going behind Alexei’s back to co-ordinate with Jack and the coaches to pull it off. It would require a healthy scratch for the last game before their little winter break, and Kent’s ability to pack for the both of them which was…dodgy at best.

“You give me hint?”

“Nope,” Kent said with a wink.

Alexei pouted his bottom lip out. “Small hint? I’m not even check you once.”

“You know the rules, no using game plays as bribery,” Kent said, and poked him on the nose.

“FINE!” Snowy belted.

“I’m not even on this team, asshole,” Kent said back, and kissed Alexei once more. “Good luck, dickheads. You’ll need it.”

He got a healthy round of middle fingers as he slipped out, and halfway down the hallway he saw the small, grinning slice of Georgia Peach Pie coming toward him. “Don’t sneak on out of here, Mr Parson,” Bitty said as he slipped by with his press badge on. “I have something for you and Tater before you go.”

Kent lifted a brow. “Do I want to know?”

“No, but you’ll thank me. Good luck. Not too much but…a little.”

Kent laughed, then gave Bitty a mock-salute before heading into his own team’s locker room, and prepared himself to get them fired up. Soon enough they were skating out, and Kent was prepared for the game.

*** 

_“…and it looks like Parson has the puck, back then over to Svenson, trying to get through the Falconer’s defence, but Mashkov has been on them all night. OH! And it looks like Zimmermann was able to get in there, off to Doubek…then to Mashkov who…Oh my god and Mashkov is down. He just took Becket’s stick to the face. High sticking penalty has been called on the Aces. Refs are reviewing but it doesn’t look like Mashkov is getting up from that one…”_

Kent was staring across the ice, and his eyes were fixated on the twisted way that Alexei was laying, and the small pool of blood seeping from his cheek. His heart was racing, and his eyes were fixed on Becket who was staring at Alexei in almost triumph. Kent’s heart was hammering in his ears, and he found himself skating over as the medics entered the ice to assess the damage.

He could hear the commentators in the background, but he wasn’t paying attention to them, not to Swoops who was trying to get his attention, or to his coach who was screaming at him to get back to the bench. He was on his knees, his fingers touching Alexei’s face. Alexei’s eye was covered in blood, and Kent couldn’t make out where the blood was coming from—if it was the cheek or forehead or the…the eye.

The giant Russian was panting, and swearing under his breath as one of the medics prodded at him. “Is okay,” he gasped at Kent.

Kent glanced up at Jack. “What the fuck happened. You were right there.”

Jack’s cheeks were pink, though Kent wasn’t sure if it was exertion or something else. “I think he said something. Becket. Then he just…” Jack mimed swinging his stick upward.

Kent gave a firm nod, then was forced to back away as they pressed a cloth to Alexei’s face and eased him off. Both teams headed for their benches, and Jack nudged him. “You need to keep your head in the game.”

Kent’s jaw tensed. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“If it had been anyone other than Tater…” Jack began, but went silent when Kent gave him a withering stare.

“You may not like the way we play,” Kent said as he reached the wall in front of his bench, “but my guys don’t fucking play like that.”

Jack gave him a nod, then slipped through, and Kent used his anger to jump the wall and storm at the coach. “You fucking pull him. After his penalty, fucking pull him. There had better be a goddam fine for that.”

Coach’s eyes were narrow, but he looked determined and upset. Kent didn’t look over at Becket who was waiting as they cleared the ice of blood before he went off to serve his time in the bin. He was serving ten minutes, and if he wasn’t off the ice, Kent was going to raise hell.

*** 

_“…and it’s the Falconers with the powerplay. Their captain does not look happy with that, Joe.”_

_“No he does not. The Aces are known for underhanded tactics, but they’re not fighters. You remember what a risk it was when Becket joined the team.”_

_“That’s right, it was a big surprise. Becket went seventh in the overall draft, and he didn’t seem like the right fit. His career in juniors seemed to make him a better fit for Panthers, and it was a risk Johnson took. Looks like it may not have been worth it.”_

_“We’ll just have to see if the Aces can keep it up after that shake-up, and if losing Mashkov will cost the Falconers anything…”_

*** 

Kent blamed himself for his lack of focus, but no matter what, he couldn’t stop seeing the bloody mess that had been Alexei’s eye, and not having an update was getting to him. Jack was on his ass during the final minutes of the second period, and by the end, it was only the fact that Benny was on point in goal that no one managed to score.

“Keep your shit together,” Jack growled at him.

“His fucking face,” Kent spat as they headed for their benches. “I need to fucking see him. His eye…”

“Bittle’s in with him now,” Jack said. “I don’t know what’s going on but if you try and go back there we both know you’re not coming out. Go get a drink, sit down. I’ll send him in a few minutes.”

Kent stormed into the locker room and fought the urge to punch the wall. The entire team gave him wide berth, and by the time they were called back to the ice, the coach decided it was more than reasonable to bench Becket for the remainder of the game.

Kent slid on the bench next to him, staring for a while before he spoke. “Listen, Rookie, you might be new, but we don’t play like that. And if you ever come at any of the guys like that again…”

“You’ll what?” he snarled.

Kent leant in, putting a finger in Becket’s face. “I might not be big enough to fight, but I’m the captain and I can and will make your time here a living hell. Little shits like you who end up free agents will be fucking lucky to end up on a Farm Team. Am I clear?”

Becket sneered at him, but said nothing, and Kent sat back and waited anxiously as the next line went out to start the third period. He jumped at every noise, desperately waiting for Bittle to come out and tell him everything was fine. Everything needed to be fine.

*** 

_“…and the refs are reviewing the goal, challenged by Mason who has now been coach of the Falconers for two solid years. You can see he’s not happy there, and Parson looks just as annoyed.”_

_“Exactly, Joe. I was just…oh it looks like Parson is having a short visit from one of the Falconers’ PR people. You can see him there on the bench showing something to the Aces’ captain who looks relieved.”_

_“Possibly an update on Mashkov. Parson was not happy with the behaviour of his teammate. We’ve seen this in Parson for years now. He will play a dirty game, but he’s careful about violence.”_

_“Exactly. You don’t see a lot of fighting with the Aces which makes them somewhat unique, especially on the West Coast. Haha Joe, Parson must be happy with the news. He’s giving the PR kid a hug. You don’t see that kind of affection for the opposing team, even if it’s just staff.”_

_“Well I hope he can bring this energy back to the ice. The Aces take the lead now, three-two, with seven minutes to go.”_

*** 

Kent didn’t realise how difficult breathing had become until Bitty leant over him and held his phone down for Kent to see. It was a photo of Tater on the exam table, a massive bandage over his left eye, holding a thumbs up.

“The stick scraped his eye, but no major damage—though the trainer is making an appointment for him tomorrow to have his optometrist to have a look at it. He’ll need you to drive him there. Are you stayin’?”

Kent nodded. “Yeah uh. I am. I had…something planned for tonight.”

Bitty looked a little sad. “Well he’s gonna be fine, hun. Don’t you worry, okay? The stick mostly got him right on the eyebrow which is where most of the blood was comin’ from. Few stitches and he’s gonna sit back there until the game is over, but he told me to tell you to get back out there. But…not to win.”

Kent rolled his eyes because it was such a fucking Tater thing to say. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Bits. Seriously. Thank you.” He abandoned all pretence and dragged Bitty into a hug before he was ordered to get out on the ice.

They were still in the lead, with three minutes to go. All they really had to do was hold them off. Then he could take home the victory, and his stupid boyfriend and his stupid injured eye. Kent grinned as his skates hit the ice, and he held his stick in a firm grip, determined not to go into OT.

His determination won out, and though both Jack, Thirdy, and Marty had a shot each, none sank, and the horn blew. The game was over. Kent hurried to congratulate his guys, giving his goalie more than just the little head-butt because he deserved a fuck of a lot more for the saves. But he really didn’t have time, and none of the guys seemed surprised to not only see him flying off the ice, but to dodge the press, take the world’s fastest shower, throw his joggers and t-shirt on his still-wet body, and fucking run down the corridor to where Alexei would be waiting.

For all that Kent knew what to expect, seeing Alexei kind of greyish, with a massive bandage plastered over his eye, grimacing a little because obviously it hurt, was a lot to take in. He took a few breaths as he crossed the room, a little slower than he might have any other day, and he quickly picked up Alexei’s hand, pressing the callused knuckles to his mouth.

“Hurts?” he asked.

Alexei sighed. “Is not best feeling, but not too bad. Not bad as broken wrist.”

Kent wanted to chirp him, or maybe kiss him, or do something that would bring the situation back round to normal, but he couldn’t. He felt frozen by the desire to just curl up on the stupid exam table with his boyfriend and sleep right there.

The relief that Alexei was okay was taking a lot out of him, and it was by sheer will alone he got Alexei on his feet and out the side door before anyone noticed. 

They didn’t say much on the drive home, but they held hands over the console and Tater’s thumb played along the lines of Kent’s palm. When they got to Kent’s apartment, Tater immediately went to Kit who was curled up on the couch, and Kent put their things at the foot of the bed.

When he came out, he found Alexei stood by the table near the window. The menorah sat cold and unlit, and the backdrop of the dark night sky reminded Kent that they were late—they were always late during season—but this one felt a little shittier.

“You light, I’m pray, okay?” Alexei said softly.

Kent nodded. Alexei was far more devout than he was, and really Kent’s recollection of the Hebrew prayers wasn’t exactly the best. Alexei had chirped him more than once about it. But doing this together meant more to Kent than any holiday he’d ever spent with anyone. He took his time lighting the candles, and felt the warm, soft tones of Alexei’s singing wrap around him like a blanket.

When they were through, Kent pulled Alexei to him, cupping his cheek just under the bandage, and sighed. “Are you hungry? We still have those left over latkes.”

Alexei’s good eye widened. “Oh. No. I’m have gift from tiny baker.” He pushed away from Kent and went to the bedroom, returning a moment later with a small, square baker’s box. He lifted the lid, and Kent stared down at the white-dusted little balls of pastry. “Sufganiyot.” 

“Wow, seriously?” Kent took one and bit into it, the soft dough giving way to tangy jam. It was better than he’d ever had, even better than his Bubbie’s which was really a wrench to admit. “Damn. Way to go Itty Bitty.”

Alexei laughed, taking Kent’s hand and pulled him toward the sofa. He tripped over the coffee table, cursing in Russian as he almost went down, but managed to right himself and settle against the cushions. “Covered eye is making…” He said something in Russian Kent didn’t understand, but assumed it was his depth perception.

“It’s gonna be fucked til the bandages come off. Sorry babe. Is it…I mean you can still see out of it, right?”

Alexei snorted. “Yes, is blurry but is okay. I still see your pretty face.”

“It’s not about that,” Kent said, flushing and huffing as Alexei pulled him in to kiss along his neck. “You’re an idiot.”

“No. Am smartest guy you know. Am so smart because I fall in love with good captain who protect guys, even ones not on his team.”

Kent felt his rage well up against Becket again, but he pushed it aside for now. Because he had something for Alexei and that was far more important than some dickbag who wanted to play dirty pool on the ice.

“Uh. Do you want your gift now, babe?” he asked, his voice a little rough with Alexei kissing his pulse-point like that.

Alexei pulled back slightly. “Is better than kissing?”

Kent shrugged. “I mean. Maybe?”

Alexei chuckled and shoved at Kent’s shoulder. “Go get. You not focus until I have it. Go.”

Kent took his sweet ass time since Alexei was going to be a shit about it, but eventually he came back with the gift, thinly wrapped in the only Chanukah themed wrapping paper he could find—which cost way too much but whatever. He passed it over, then tried not to bounce in his seat as Alexei carefully unwrapped it and stared.

“What is…is this…trip?”

Kent rubbed at the back of his neck. “Uh. Yeah. Like, we have time you know, for our winter break. And I was thinking we could uhh…well. Go see some shit.”

Alexei looked up, his uncovered eye a little wide, a little wet. “Romantic holiday. Who know you such a sap, Kenny.”

“Oh shut the fuck up. I changed my mind, I’ll take Bits with me,” Kent said, even as Alexei dragged Kent into his lap and kissed him.

“I love gift. Best gift I ever get. Best boyfriend,” he said, hugging Kent round the middle tight and possessive. “I never visit Paris before.”

Kent raised a brow. “Yeah? Well I’ve gone a couple times, but we’re only going to be there for like two days. We’re gonna head up to Normandy and see where I was born.”

“I forget you…what they call it? Little French froggie?”

“Oh fuck you,” Kent said.

Alexei laughed and kissed him again, cupping his cheek softly. “Show me all favourite places.”

“I will,” Kent said, only a little sullen because he _is_ excited for this. “After that, we’re gonna spend the rest of the time in Nice. I got us a fucking sweet hotel, room right on the water. It’ll be…okay like not warm but not bad? And it’ll be just us.” And Kent wasn’t thinking about the other part he had planned, because when he did his stomach felt like it was trying to crawl out of his mouth, and he had to save all his courage for when he was there. He took a breath, and rubbed his thumb over Alexei’s cheek. “Hopefully you’ll be healed.”

“Maybe I’m be French pirate, with eye patch. And bird.” Alexei nibbled at Kent’s shoulder, then gave a little sigh. “Is okay if we sleep, Kenny?”

Kent’s face fell, only because he felt like he’d been neglecting Alexei. The injury wasn’t life-threatening, but it was serious enough and he knew his boyfriend had to be in some pain. He pulled Alexei to his feet and got him to the bed without any more depth perception incidents. Soon enough they were curled up under the blankets, Kent at Alexei’s back with his palm pressed to the centre of Alexei’s chest.

“You played really good out there. And I promise I’m gonna take care of that shithead, okay? I’m…I’m fucking sorry he did that.”

Alexei sighed and tugged Kent closer. “Is okay. I know not you, not usual Aces play.”

 

“Did he like…say anything to you? Do you know why he went after you?”

Alexei’s silence was telling, as was the lie in his voice when he said, “I’m think maybe he just not like Russians very much.”

Kent could read his boyfriend though, better than anyone, and he knew not to push. So instead he pressed a kiss between Alexei’s shoulder blades and whispered. “Yeah well that’s fine. More for me. You know I fucking hate sharing.”

Alexei laughed sleepily and put his hand over Kent’s, letting their fingers rest together. “Am all yours, Kenny. Always all yours.”

“Love you babe,” Kent whispered.

Alexei dragged his thumb over the tops of Kent’s fingers just one and sighed. “I’m love you so much, kotyonok. Forever.”

*** 

They arrived at Charles de Gaulle in the early afternoon. The flight was a bitch, and even though Kent and Alexei had slept in Kent’s childhood bedroom the night before, he got shit for sleep, and the plane ride was a mess of uncomfortable seating and Alexei snoring on his shoulder.

Kent had never been a big fan of airports, let alone massive ones where everyone is crammed into passenger tubes getting to wherever the fuck they’re going, and half the people are blowing smoke in his face which he’s pretty sure isn’t allowed but they’re doing it anyway.

Alexei seemed unbothered by the whole thing, just staring around excitedly and holding Kent’s hand which, admittedly, made the experience a little better than when he and Jack had flown over in Juniors for his cousin’s bat mitzvah. But having Alexei on his arm, and his case in his other hand, and a fucking ring box burning a hole in his pocket, Kent was on edge.

Luckily he’d taken care of the whole weekend ahead of time. Or well, he’d had his assistant, who deserved a massive pay rise, handle it all. They’d grab a taxi to the little flat she’d found for them, and they’d crash there until Monday. Their train to Caen was set for noon, because there was no way in fucking hell Kent planned on leaving the bed before ten.

They’d hit up a couple of spots Kent hadn’t seen since he as a kid, and he planned to drag Alexei to Mont Saint Michel since he’d been obsessively talking about, “The castle with quicksand,” for weeks now—refusing to listen to Kent about how no it’s not actually quicksand, no it’s not like the Princess Bride, Tater, oh my god.

But it was a gorgeous area, and if Kent was going to be sappy and absurd about this proposal, he figured there was the best place to do it.

They headed for the exit, to the taxi line, and Kent was hit in the face with the bitter cold of Paris winter. The sky was clear, but there was snow in small piles all around, and his coat wasn’t doing much good. He’d been in Vegas for too long.

Glancing over at Alexei, he saw his boyfriend’s cheeks were a little rosy, but he was unfazed by the whole process. Alexei looked over at Kent though, saw his bottom jaw chattering, and laughed, tugging him close.

“I keep you warm, is okay,” he muttered.

To stop himself from straight jumping Alexei in the middle of the crowd, Kent marched forward and grabbed the first taxi he could find. He pulled up the address on his phone, then rattled it off to the driver, trying to be as polite as he could while also conveying the fact that he was in a huge fucking hurry because he had jet-lag but also wanted to fuck his boyfriend before they passed out.

The flat Mari managed to secure for them was small, but posh, overlooking the Seine and had a full view of Pont Alexandre III and the Eiffel Tower. There was a small terrace, a wrought iron gate that looked like it might buckle under the weight of them combined, but Kent knew better than to not trust the structural integrity of French architecture.

Inside was a single bedroom, a living room which bled into a breakfast nook, and the smallest kitchen Kent had ever seen. He had a moment of trying to picture Bitty in there, trying to find a space to bake, and it made him giggle as Alexei came out of the small bathroom.

Long arms loped themselves over Kent’s shoulders, Alexei’s hands hanging loosely near Kent’s shoulder blades, and he smiled, looking down into blue-grey eyes. “What is funny?”

“Just trying to picture Bitty making a pie in that kitchen,” Kent answered before going onto his toes to kiss Alexei.

The taller man drew the kiss out, one hand moving to cup Kent’s jaw, the other manoeuvring them back against the counter. Kent groaned, pressing his body against the length of Alexei’s, their lips dancing a little desperately together.

Kent was heady with it all—being here with Alexei, knowing that in a few days he was going to take a huge leap and although there was a chance Alexei might say no, when Kent looked into his eyes, he couldn’t picture it. All he could really think about was seeing the slender band resting on Alexei’s finger and knowing that he’d agreed to be Kent’s, and stay Kent’s, and love him in spite of all his faults and all his fuck-ups.

Kent startled out of his head when Alexei ran a thumb over Kent’s cheek and said, “You look like you cry, Kenny? Is problem?”

Kent shook his head, realising his throat was warm and tight, and his words didn’t want to come out unbroken. He took a small breath, then said, “No. Just…really fucking happy, is all.”

Alexei smiled and pecked him on the nose. “Is good news. I’m like make my Kenny happy.”

Kent rolled his eyes, but allowed Alexei to lift him up by the hips, and carry him to the sofa. Kent noted the cushions were well used, but definitely less comfortable than his sofa in Vegas, or Alexei’s in Providence. But it ceased to matter when Alexei pressed both hands against the cushions, on either side of Kent’s head, and stared at him with that adoring look.

Kent lifted his fingers, tracing round the scar just below Alexei’s eyebrow. The evidence remained of the injury, in the pale line where stitches had been, and the thin, foggy white scar along the outer edge of Alexei’s deep brown iris. His vision hadn’t been affected, but it was a close call.

Alexei let out a soft breath, then muttered, “I love you,” before lowering his head and taking Kent’s mouth against his own once more.

With the warm rushing through his limbs, it took all of Kent’s self-control not to drop to his knee right then, and jump the gun.

*** 

They didn’t get around to more than a couple of lazy hand-jobs before their jet-lag caught up with them, and eventually they curled up under the heavy duvet in the bedroom, and slept.

Kent was up first, just as dusk rolled around, and he stretched the ache out of his arms and back before getting up to use the toilet. The flat was freezing, in spite of the ancient heater, and the moment he was done, he scrambled for his softest hoodie, joggers, and a pair of thick socks. When he was dressed, he sat on the bed and poked Alexei in the nose until his boyfriend’s annoyed, soft eyes propped open.

“No. Is bedtime,” Alexei grumbled.

“Your sleep’s gonna be fucked to hell if you don’t get up at least for a little while. Come on, get dressed and we can go find some dinner.” When Alexei pouted, Kent kissed his protruding bottom lip until the taller man gave a sigh, shoved Kent off, and got up.

He made a big show of his bad attitude, but Kent caught him grinning a few times, and by the time they reached the pavement outside, their fingers were tangled together, and Alexei was exclaiming at all of the gorgeous buildings.

“Is like Russia,” he said, pointing to the block of flats next to the one they were staying in. “Not…exactly. But is similar. Very old. Not like America…baby country, you know. Flashy, modern. This…different.”

Kent hummed, and side-stepped a puddle of slushy snow as he dragged Tater toward a glowing café sign in the distance. “Yeah well, I like Vegas.”

Alexei rolled his eyes as he slung his arm round Kent’s waist. “Only because you ridiculous. Flashy. Show off,” he said in a gentle whisper, and ducked his head to kiss the side of Kent’s neck.

Kent laughed, shoving him away, but didn’t let him go too far. “I’m fucking starving. Come on. I’ll order for you.”

The café wasn’t crowded, and Kent pushed Alexei toward a table near the window before ordering a couple of teas, and two of the sandwiches they had on the menu. Both of them dug in with relish, and through a mouthful Kent said, “Tomorrow we’ll do all the tourist shit, you know? We can look up one of those stupid travel guides and do whatever you want.”

Alexei’s cheeks were a little pink. “Okay. You come here before. What you are liking best?”

Kent shrugged. “Uh, the last time I was here was for my cousin’s bat mitzvah. She lives near Versailles, so we just kind of chilled down there for that. It was near Bastille day though, so Jack…”

“Zimmboni?” Alexei asked, with a light to his eyes.

Kent laughed. “Yeah. Zimms. We grabbed the train and headed into Paris for the weekend. My mom was pretty chill about it, you know? Just kind of shoved a bunch of Francs at us and told us to have fun. Zimms was already such a fucking nerd back then. He dragged me to the Dôme des Invalides because he wanted to see all the knights and shit.” Kent shook his head with a fond smile. The trip with Zimms had been nothing short of a disaster, but there had been a few days Kent didn’t want to forget. “This guy working the ticket stand was like…way too old to be hitting on Zimms, but shit he was thirsty for it. He invited us to this party at the firehouse for Bastille Day, right? Like some rave thing. They had a reggae band and everything.”

“How old you were?” Alexei asked, lifting a brow as he sipped his tea.

“Shit like…seventeen? The party was fucking crazy and we drank way too much. Somehow we ended up at the Bastille where this shitty band was playing and Jack had managed to get roman candles from fucking somewhere—I never did figure that one out. Anyway he dared me to light one off when we were waiting for the metro and I think we actually almost got arrested.”

Alexei huffed a tiny laugh. “Is good I not know you. You get me into so much trouble.”

Kent bit his lip to hide his grin. “Yeah well…I don’t actually plan on repeating any of that shit, you know. We can go to the Louvre or something, if you want? We could take the train down to Versailles. The palace is really fucking pretty.” If Kent remembered right, through his haze of too much drinking and trying to keep Jack from falling apart.

What Kent wanted more than anything was to have this trip be perfect—be everything he’d wanted it to be when he’d come here a love-sick teenager with a boyfriend who was fraying apart at the seams. He felt Alexei curl his foot round his ankle and it grounded him.

“We do whatever you want. Whatever make you happy,” Alexei said, and the honest sincerity in his voice is what made Kent lean across the table to kiss him. And god, he was happy.

*** 

They spent the next day doing a walking tour of the city. Kent got passes for the metro, and Alexei got distracted on the Champs-Élysées and they ended up cutting the rest of their trip short because he couldn’t stop buying shit.

Back at the flat, Kent stared at an absurdly heavy, marble chess board with Napoleon pieces. “Damn it, babe, we’re going to need like two new cases to fit all this crap. Do you even play chess?”

“I’m get for Zimmboni,” Alexei said absently as he pawed through the bakeware with prints of chefs on them he’d obviously picked up for Bitty. “He like history.”

“Yeah,” Kent said, and sighed because Jack would probably fucking love the gift, and so what if they had to pay the outrageous fees to check a couple more of their cases full of crap.

They decided to order in after that. There was a little spot just round the corner, and they picked up food, and sat in the middle of the floor in front of the blank TV, eating and pressing their feet together. Kent swore he’d never felt like this before, and yet again he felt the desire to just grab the ring, and hold Alexei by the cheeks, and try to find the words to express just how fucking much the man meant to him.

Instead he laid down on Alexei’s thigh when their food had been pushed to the side, and closed his eyes when heavy fingers brushed through his cowlicks. “Babe?”

“Mm?”

Kent opened his eyes to see Alexei staring at the faint light out the terrace window. “Do you uh. Do you ever think about coming out?”

Alexei looked down at Kent carefully. They were the worst kept secret of the NHL. After a few years, they’d stopped really caring about who spotted them doing what, and Kent knew it was probably because they were fucking good players who won a lot of trophies. Which wasn’t fair, but it was what it was.

Still, they’d never really talked about it, being official. Alexei still had three years on his contract with the Falconers, and Kent had two with the Aces, but he knew they were going to offer at least another five if he didn’t sustain any major injuries between now and then. He wanted this, he wanted a life and a marriage and maybe even a family with Alexei, but he wasn’t exactly sure how.

“Sometimes,” Alexei finally said. His fingers remained in Kent’s hair, but they stopped moving. “Sometimes I’m want to kiss you right on the ice, and not care. But I…is a lot, and others might not…like so much.”

Kent sighed, rolling onto his side and pressed his cheek against Alexei’s thigh. “Yeah. I…I get it. And I know going home after that, you’d be kinda fucked.”

“Mm.” Alexei trailed his fingers along the back of Kent’s neck. “But maybe is worth it. Someday. If you…if you want.”

Kent hugged Alexei’s leg tight and nodded. “Yeah. I’m…maybe. Someday. I don’t really give a fuck what happens to me, but I want you to be as happy as I am so. Whenever you’re ready.”

Alexei made an aborted noise, like he was going to say something, then stopped. When Kent rolled over and lifted a brow, Alexei just shook his head, and with the tip of his finger, traced along Kent’s freckles until the other man’s eyes got heavy.

They went to bed shortly after, their love-making more gentle than usual, quick, but sweet. Kent grumbled when Alexei got up to fetch a flannel to clean up with, but soon enough they were back in each other’s arms, and warm.

Kent was worried. Not doubting, maybe. Not having second thoughts, but his future seemed foggy. If Alexei was with him though, he supposed in the end, it wouldn’t really matter.

*** 

Kent hadn’t been back to Normandy since he was little. He was four when they made the move to New York, and his memories of their little house were vague, sort of like movie clips—foggy and a little surreal. He remembered their house which was mostly made of stone—concrete floors with rugs everywhere. He remembered the huge barn, and the sheep. He remembered his grandfather’s massive white beard, and his wellies as he’d muck out the stalls.

He remembered fresh cheeses and cherries from the trees behind his house. He remembered dirt roads and a massive, black iron gate. Dilapidated cars from the twenties which hadn’t been moved in almost a century, overgrown with ivy and brush.

But very little stuck. Kent was thrust into the American culture with his mother gone so often, and the neighbours sticking him in front of the TV to learn English, to assimilate. It wasn’t until he met Jack, until he was in Quebec away from the heavy drawl of the Northwest United States that he remembered his roots, his mother tongue.

Kent hadn’t retained as much French as he’d wanted to. He didn’t speak like it was his first language, but he did his best—even after things with Jack fell apart—not to lose it.

Here, stood at a little countryside castle that Alexei had spotted off the side of the road, Kent felt…at home again. In a strange way. The courtyard was well maintained, snowy, a few peacocks roaming, a drawbridge over a small moat with a few, harrowed-looking swans swimming.

“Uh,” Kent said, scratching the back of his head. He’d just got back from the tour-guide who didn’t have anyone who could do the tour in Russian or English, but she had the Russian guidebook for Alexei to follow along. Kent thrust it at his boyfriend and said, “You want me to like…translate or…”

“This okay, Kenny,” Alexei said, dragging him in close for a kiss. He cupped Kent’s cheek and whispered, “Am just happy to be here with you. Is romantic.”

Kent rolled his eyes and shoved at Alexei’s shoulder and refused to agree, even though it was so fucking storybook he kind of wanted to cry.

The tour didn’t take long. Forty five minutes of climbing steps and visiting draughty, frigid old rooms of some castle belonging to some family no one gave a shit about. Alexei, like a kid in a candy shop, stuffed his arms full of souvenirs anyway—books and post cards and little snow globes with shitty replicas of the castle and the chapel which he claimed were for Jack, though Kent would eat his favourite snapback if even a third of those things made it to Zimms.

It was worth it, of course, to see the glow on Alexei’s face.

Kent and Alexei had been together years, but they’d never been able to just get away like this. He let his mind wander, thinking about an actual wedding. Thinking about a honeymoon and travelling and being in each other’s arms as a married couple and god it was so disgusting but he wanted it so much.

After the tour, they got back in the little car they’d rented, and swung by a restaurant. It was close enough to Christmas that the village was fairly empty. They were staying at a little B&B just outside of Caen, the room small and wooden, overlooking a snow-covered street.

They curled up under the thin blanket, and Kent stopped being so cold when Alexei’s heavy fingers found their way under the hem of his boxers, and stroked him until he was gasping Alexei’s name into the crook of the other man’s neck.

They slept in, and had coffee and croissants in the small dining room of the couple who owned the place. Alexei clearly didn’t understand a word of the conversation, but he looked so damn content, Kent didn’t bother offering, and Alexei didn’t ask.

Kent settled the bill, and they hopped in the car to make it to Mont Saint Michel for the afternoon. It was the moment. It was Kent’s moment and his knees were starting to feel weak as they reached the parking spot. He wanted to walk the bridge to the cathedral, to hold Alexei’s hand, and get down on one knee when they made it to the other side. He wanted to see the sun glinting off Alexei’s soft brown hair as he looked up, and abandoned every pretence he ever had about what he deserved in his life and in his future. He wanted to give in to the things he constantly chirped Alexei for being gross and sappy and disgusting.

He wanted to get down on one damn knee and beg if he had to, for this man to spend the rest of his life with Kent.

So.

He was ready for it.

They parked the car, and Kent put on his scarf, his toque, and a second jacket. Alexei wasn’t wearing nearly as much, and his cheeks were pink, the soft, loose curls poking out from beneath his own toque. But he was smiling and his gloved hand was warm in Kent’s.

The bridge was a pain in the ass to deal with. It was long, and frigid, and windy. There were more people out than Kent expected, which meant an audience, but at this point he just…didn’t care. His hand was pressed to Alexei’s and the stroll was slow and easy, and he could see the end of the walkway which was where he’d pause and…

“Kenny.”

Kent turned and looked over at Alexei who’d stopped mid-step. He was shuffling his feet, and his cheeks were pinker than from the wind, and his jaw was tense like he was holding something back. “Uh. Babe?”

“Kenny I…I’m want to say something. Is…hard to…am nervous so words are…” He swallowed, and Kent might have been an asshole but he wasn’t an idiot and he knew that look on Alexei’s face because he was gonna wear it in about a minute and thirty seconds and… 

Alexei started to sink to his knee, his hand fumbling in his pocket, and Kent just…panicked. “Fuck. No! No don’t…you can’t…” It was when Alexei’s face began to crumple with heartbreak that Kent realised how it sounded and he shoved his fingers into his hair, knocking his toque off in the process. The wind was biting, but he barely noticed as his other hand scrabbled for the small box in his pocket. “You asshole,” he said, and threw the box at Alexei who caught it with his scary reflexes. “You…I was gonna do this! I had the whole thing planned. I booked this stupid trip and I was gonna get down on one freaking knee and tell you that I’ve never been so happy. That my entire life had been a damn disaster up until the moment I realised you didn’t actually want to murder me. I was gonna tell you that I literally cannot think of my life without you because it feels wrong and broken that way, and I just…I want…” Kent calmed, and his breathing slowed, and his voice lowered. “I wanted to ask you to spend the rest of your life with me.”

Alexei was staring, eyes wide and watery, and he fumbled for Kent’s fingers, dragging him down and against his chest. “Yes,” he whispered.

Kent rolled his eyes, even as he surged up high on his knees and kissed Alexei. “Well yes, too, you thunder-stealing bastard.”

Alexei chuckled wetly as he dug into his own pocket of a similar ring-box. Kent heard a smattering of applause nearby, and people speaking a Germanic language he didn’t recognise, but he didn’t care about the audience. His shaking hands cracked the lid on the box and nestled inside was a ring absolutely nothing like the one he’d got for Alexei.

The one waiting for him was platinum, wide, the centre a soft emerald, and inside a Russian inscription he vowed to translate the moment he was anywhere near a computer. For now, he merely held the ring box in his hand, and dared to look up where Alexei was touching his own.

“You gonna put it on me?”

Alexei glanced up, then laughed and got up off his knees, pulling Kent with him. Licking his lips, Alexei plucked Kent’s ring out of the padding, then grabbed his hand and slid it on. It fit, a strange weight to it, almost like regaining a limb he hadn’t known he’d lost.

“I…” he said, then abandoned words in favour of putting Alexei’s ring on him. It seemed a little loose, but Alexei didn’t seem to care as the ring boxes fell to the ground, and they held each other, and kissed for everyone to see.

There was applause again, and Kent flushed and laughed against Alexei’s mouth, but he didn’t let go.

*** 

It was evening, cold, but not as bad as Northern France had been. Lying on a chaise, under a cloudy sky, with crashing waves in the rising tide lulling them into a gentle doze, Kent pressed his ear to Alexei’s chest. He could feel the thrumming heartbeat just beneath the skin, and he smiled to himself as he thought, _This heart is mine. He gave it to me. He wants me._

Their phones were inside, messages blowing up after Kent thought, fuck it, and tweeted a picture of themselves standing in the gardens of Mont Saint-Michel with rings on display, and sappy grins on their faces.

Kent knew things would come crashing back down eventually. He’d retreat into his sarcasm, and Alexei would take it all in stride. Maybe they’d plan a wedding, maybe they’d just get drunk at the craps table and find an ordained Elvis at some chapel off the strip. 

Right now, Kent couldn’t care less. Right now, all Kent could think about was the feeling of Alexei under him, hands running into his hair, occasional, gentle kisses pressing against his temple. Somewhere off in the distance, Kent could hear Christmas music playing. It wasn’t their holiday, but the fairy lights strung above them cast a soft glow, and Kent felt content and happier than he thought he ever could.

“Spring wedding,” Alexei murmurs.

Kent turns his head up, blinking a little. “Yeah, alright. Where?”

“Warm. Somewhere warm,” Alexei says, and laughs softly at Kent’s relieved expression. “Maybe nice beach. We can say vows, get sand on our feet. Maybe I push you in waves.”

Kent pinches Alexei on the side and huffs. “God you’re so fucking mean to me. Seriously, why do I want to marry you again?”

“Because I’m best. Most handsome,” he says, and laughs again when Kent rolls his eyes. “Because I’m love you best. Make you forget all the bad things.”

“Yeah,” Kent says from behind a breath, and surges up a little to capture Alexei’s mouth with his own. “I guess you get a pass for that one.”

“Mm, is nice,” Alexei says when Kent settles back down. Their fingers play with each other’s. Kent can’t stop touching the band on Alexei’s hand, and Alexei can’t stop smiling when he notices it. “Look good together. Look like ours. Me and you.”

Kent feels a warm rushing through his entire body, and he buries his face into Alexei’s chest. It’s a lot to handle. And soon enough they’re gonna fly back to the real world. They’ll have to deal with their pissed off PR agents, and a world of bullshit on social media. Kent knows he’s gonna get a lot of shit from his teammates and probably Jack and Bits for keeping all this a secret. But he doesn’t care. He’s too happy. It feels too good like this.

Kent hasn’t spent a lot of time believing he’s deserved good things, but when he looks up into soft brown eyes who are staring at him like he hung the fucking moon, he thinks that maybe he’s been wrong a lot. And even if that’s not true, he’s got this, and he certainly plans to live his life like he’s earnt it.


End file.
